


Matter of Life and Death

by scandalsavage



Series: 50/500 Celebratory Prompt-A-Thon [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: A Little Tiny Bit Of Smut, Angst, But mostly lots of angst, F/M, Lots of talk about death, Sort of? - Freeform, kind of... mildly suicidal talk?, no one actually dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 06:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21132146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: Jason was never fated to die.She reaches out and touches his face. When his eyes open, heknowsher. He knows her even though he’s never known true death.His pinched, agonized expression smooths out at her touch. His eyes soften when they find hers.She is unused to the reaction. Most people feel fear or sadness or anger when they see her andknow.But Jason finds comfort in the presence of Death.





	Matter of Life and Death

**Author's Note:**

> THE ASK: Hello. For your 500 followers Prompt-A-Thon request, how about Death/Jason. Honestly, I'm just wondering what the batfam's reaction would be to finding out Jason is dating death. Like their reaction whenever there's a near death experience and Jason is talking to thin air (because only he can see him/her). Then one day Jason is the one having a near death experience and Death comes physically to talk to him. Congratulations, BTW!!
> 
> Soooooooo..... this turned out... a little differently but I hope you like it anyway <3

He’s not supposed to be there. So she says as much.

“Look lady, I… I don’t even know where here is. So… uh…” the boy trails off.

She can’t blame him. If she doesn’t know what’s happening, she can’t expect the maybe-sorta-dead human youth to know.

He’s dressed absurdly in what would be green textured shorts, a red tunic, and a yellow cape, complete horrendous green pixie boots, if it weren’t for the way color was leeched from all things in this place. It helps fill in some of the gaps. But certainly not all of them.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” She asks, taking a small step toward him. He’s obviously frightened and even though he’ll never outrun her, she doesn’t want to chase him down. “Then we can figure out—”

“No offense,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest, “but I don’t know you and the last thing I remember was getting beaten to gory mess, blown up, and gasping for air in a grimy warehouse. Now, suddenly, I’m—” he looks around at the black void and shivers, “—here, with a kinda-hot-kinda-creepy lady who is… unnaturally _white_. So why don’t we start with who _you_ are, and then go from _there_.”

She just gazes at him for a moment. The situation is unprecedented and for once in her _extremely_ long life she is genuinely… _surprised_. Not just because he’s there. Even if that is the primary concern. Humans, or rather their souls, aren’t meant to see this place. It’s just… connective tissue—a pass through. No one has ever just… stopped. But it’s clear he also doesn’t recognize her.

Stretching her memory back to the beginning, she can’t recall a single soul, separated from its physical shell, not recognizing her on sight. As such, she is certainly used to a much more… respectful tone.

It’s both insulting and refreshing.

“Am I… am I… dead?” The oddly dressed boy asks softly. There’s a tremble in his voice and he’s gripping the hem of the cape tightly.

If he was dead, he wouldn’t be here. If he was dead, he would know her. But if he was alive, he wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t see her at all. It feels extremely disconcerting to be unable to answer.

And yet, a part of her is thrilled. She doesn’t think she’s ever just… _not known_ something before.

“I can’t be dead,” the boy mutters, more to himself than to her, as he drops to sit on the inky void that surrounds them. “He needs me. I just… I made a mistake. I need him to know… to know that it wasn’t him. Not really. I wasn’t trying to… to replace him. I just needed to know.”

She watches his shoulders shake when he drops his forehead to his knees, unsure how to respond.

Finally, she sits at his side.

“You are… you seem to be caught in limbo,” she answers finally, gently as she is able. “You are not alive, but your soul has… taken an uncommon detour and you have not actually died. If you had, you would know me.”

There is no recognition in his eyes when they rise to meet hers. But the blue of his irises somehow manages to burn through the void. The only color that exists in this place.

“I _am_ Death,” she continues, surprised and intrigued when the only reaction the revelation receives is slight widening of his eyes. Which she can’t stop looking at. She can perceive the colors things were supposed to be in this realm but there shouldn’t be any actual pigment here. “You are… something entirely unique.”

He tears his gaze away from hers and actual color, a soft rosy pink, rises in his cheeks.

His name is Jason. The young protégé of one of the many superheroes on one of the many worlds in one or the many universes.

She spends a great deal of time with him over the next months or years, time means very little to her. It does, however, still mean a great deal to Jason. She can move between the realms, but he is stuck in the void. She was away for a week the first and only time she left him and returned to find him distraught and inconsolable after being alone in the still, silent, nothing.

The best she can guess, after discussing the mystery with a less than helpful Destiny, is that he isn’t meant to die permanently. He can’t move on because he’s destined to return to his flesh.

It is, in her opinion, a particularly grisly thought. But one that proves accurate when he is suddenly ripped from her side in the middle of a conversation and when she checks on him, finds him desperately struggling to escape his airless coffin buried deep under the earth.

She shouldn’t interfere but she can’t help it. It’s a simple think to crack the wood, to move the dirt more than he should be able to.

He’s not himself when he emerges, face wet with tears and gasping for air. She can tell. The young man she spent so much time getting to know needs healing she can’t offer.

But she resolves to keep an eye on him.

* * *

The next time they meet would feel like a coincidence if Death didn’t know better than to believe is such a thing.

She doesn’t know why she still bothers to come for the Demon when he’s on her doorstep, when so often he laughs and runs away. Perhaps it’s curiosity. Will this be the time he can’t quite manage to evade her?

It’s a different kind of void this time. Acid green and violent, burning, agony. Death is not meant to be circumvented, she thinks, it is not natural to outlive ones’ welcome.

But then she sees Jason in the thick color and allows that it is not her will the universe follows. That she is a just another mechanic, keeping everything in working order. That perhaps there is a future purpose for those who are fated to evade Death.

Except that Jason is different, she thinks, watching his face twist in pain as he’s stitched back together.

The Demon has been on her list for centuries, rising to the top, just to drop back down again.

Jason was never fated to die.

She reaches out and touches his face. When his eyes open, he _knows_ her. He knows her even though he’s never known true death.

His pinched, agonized expression smooths out at her touch. His eyes soften when they find hers.

She is unused to the reaction. Most people feel fear or sadness or anger when they see her and _know_.

But Jason finds comfort in the presence of Death.

* * *

“You’re asking if I can bring someone back from the dead?”

He's not entirely wrong but even she doesn't know the rules that allow her to do it and when. So she doesn’t know what makes him think that she can.

“I know you can.” Jason’s voice cracks on the words. “I didn’t tell him because I didn’t know how to find you again. Then it just came to me and I… I had to _try_…”

He’s shaking like a leaf behind the steering-wheel of an automobile that isn’t his and doesn’t suit him. All black and mean looking with too many lights on the dash and too many buttons. The front is smashed and smoking and there’s a cut on Jason’s forehead from where he smacked into the wheel in front of him. The broken, bloodied skin of his knuckles aren’t from the “accident” though and she suspects his tears have more to do with the previous fight than any physical pain from the wreck.

“You did it for me,” he sobs, choking on the lump in his throat, “you can do it for my little brother.”

Ah. She supposes that from his perspective, that is the only thing that makes any kind of sense.

She rests her hand on his shoulder and wonders if he can feel it when he doesn’t react.

“I can’t raise the dead, Jason," she explains, even if it's not entirely true. She doesn't want to get his hopes up. "As much as I wish I was responsible for your second life, I’m not. And I can’t bring back your brother.”

He is an al Ghul though, she thinks to herself, and one of Jason’s beloved Bats. His name was on her list. But she wouldn’t be surprised to find it there yet again.

He cries quietly in the seat next to her for a long minute. She doesn’t like to see him in pain. It… it stirs something in her that she doesn’t recognize. The fact that she hasn’t seen Jason free from his torment since he was pulled from her side only makes that thing inside her more… passionate.

“I can’t stay long,” she finally says into the near silence, “A sudden, near death experience may bring me to your side. But it can’t keep me here for more than a couple minutes.”

Jason swallows loudly and finally turns to look at her. The Demon’s green has tainted his eyes, but she sees the fiery blue much more clearly. Even despite the redness and swelling. She hasn’t missed the how much taller and bigger he is now. How handsome he’s grown.

“I miss you,” he all but whispers. “Sometimes I wish I’d never come back. Being in the empty void with you was better than being alone in an ocean of people.”

If she had a heart, she’s sure it would break.

She takes his face in her hands and the surprise in his eyes tells her that yes, he can feel it. Then she leans in and brushes her lips against his.

There’s a spark of warmth on her mouth and it tingles as it travels all the way down her spine to settle somewhere in her belly.

She knows her own eyes are as black and empty as the void; most souls won’t meet them.

But he does. And it’s not fear or sadness or anger in his gaze.

It’s longing.

* * *

The nature of his life means she sees him often.

Or… ‘often’ relative to how ‘often’ she sees other humans. Which is not. Ever. Not like this.

A death in his vicinity will allow her to see him for a few minutes. One of his own near-death experiences tugs at her and she spares a minute to make sure he’s alright. But otherwise, she has too much work to do.

“You should be more careful,” she scolds him on one occasion. One when he actually ‘died’ again for a minute. He wasn’t one of her appointments then either. But that’s not unusual. Momentary heart failures aren’t enough to bring her around. Unless it’s him. “One of these days, you’ll force me to escort you over.”

“Please,” he laughs, even though he’s clearly still a little shaken from the demon possession. “You’re my get-out-Death free card.”

She smiles at him because he knows that it doesn’t work like that. But he doesn’t know that he’s not listed. Ever. She needled Destiny into looking him up in the Book of Souls.

Jason Todd. Born. Meets Batman.

Then nothing. Just swirls of ink that won’t settle.

She doesn’t know how to tell. Doesn’t really know what to tell him, even if she knew how. It’s a strange feeling, not knowing.

“How much longer can you stay?” he asks, sounding hopeful but resigned.

“I don’t have any souls who need me here,” she answers, reaching up to tame a wild strand of hair. “I am needed elsewhere.”

“I just wish you could stay once in a while, you know? This is… this is ha—”

“Jason?”

They both turn to look at Batman. Death smirks when Jason flushes pink at the look of wary confusion on his mentor’s face.

“Kinda in the middle of something, B,” Jason barks, trying for and failing to find his usual façade of bravado.

“He can’t see me,” she reminds him.

“He could if you’d let him.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Jason? You’re acting strange after being possessed by demons,” the Bat tries again, “I’m going to need you to say something to me or I’m calling Constantine back.”

“Just what I need,” Jason groans.

“John’s not so bad,” Death responds with a smile.

Jason makes a face at her and she kisses his lips just to watch him turn a darker shade of red.

“What the hell is going on, Jason?” Bruce snaps.

“Have fun explaining that,” she says as she pats Jason’s cheek, just to the right of his scowl, and disappears.

* * *

This is her chance.

She has all day and she knows exactly how to spend it.

She puts herself in his path. It’s a test and it isn’t really fair because he doesn’t know anything about it. Her siblings say she’s lost it and about time. It’s her turn, they said, and falling for a weird mortal ranks.

He brushes past her in the aisle. Offers a distracted but polite ‘excuse me’. Then steps away.

But before she has time to be disappointed he turns back to her, taps her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I swear this isn’t a line but… do I know you? I mean, do we know each other?”

She smiles sweetly. “I don’t think so.”

It isn’t enough. He needs to say it. He needs to _know_ her.

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. His expression falls a little. “Sorry. You’re just _very_ familiar… to…”

He’s searching her face and she searches his. When their eyes meet—his supernatural teal, her very human hazel—his brows go from furrowed to wide in recognition.

“Death?”

Stepping back in surprise he looks her up and down. Her skin is much darker than it usually is, her hair a soft brown and curly.

There’s no reason he should recognize her. There’s no explanation.

Other than: Jason Todd _knows_ Death.

They spend the whole day together.

Jason promptly discards his plans, puts what he had in his cart back, and starts gathering a whole different list of ingredients.

Then they return to his apartment, a small but comfortable place kept immaculate and tidy.

They make idle chit-chat while he cooks for her. Something complicated that she’s never had before because she never wanted to waste he one day a century in a restaurant. But time spent with Jason is easy and pleasant.

They eat. Beef Wellington, his grandfather’s recipe apparently. Pistachio soufflés for desert.

He wants to watch _Casablanca, _she wants to watch _Mary Poppins_. So they meet in the middle and pretend to watch _High Society_ while they finish off the second bottle of excellent wine and make out.

It was a quiet, beautiful day.

And it’s a soft, lovely night.

Despite his brash, sarcastic exterior, Jason is kind and giving and… eager to please.

She spends an hour with his head buried between her legs and comes twice. Then he lifts her off the sofa, her legs wrapped around his waist, and she kisses him as he carries her to his bed.

They fall into it together. She threads her fingers through his hair as he kisses his way down her neck, between her breasts, across her belly. He pauses on his way back up to suck gently at her nipples, scraping his teeth over them lightly before moving back to her lips.

“May I?” he asks as he rolls his hips gracefully against her.

She chuckles. “You better or next century we won’t get out of bed at all.”

He’s frowning when he looks up at her. “Next century?”

“I only do this once every hundred years. And it only last for a day.”

His face falls even further. “I… I don’t think I’ll be around next century.” He tries for a smile but it’s weak. “Not all of us are immortal personifications of cosmic forces.”

“Hmmm, we’ll see,” she hums. Then she pulls him into a kiss before he can ask for clarification she doesn’t have, and flips them.

He’s breathless and flushed beneath her and she thinks that’s only fair considering he had her the same way.

Closing the space between them, she takes his lips again and sinks down onto him. They both sigh happily at the same moment.

It might be the best day she’s ever spent as a mortal.

* * *

Jason Todd _is _still around the next century.

And the one after that.

And the next.

The first one wasn’t so bad.

But the ones beyond…

It’s after his great-grand nieces and nephews have gone, when that link to family, to the past, becomes so tenuous it just dissolves.

It’s when his strongest link to existence is an immortal personification of a cosmic force who he can only really be with once every 36,500 days.

It’s when he stands alone, in a sea of people, tired, beaten down, ready to go and move on but unable.

“Why?” he asks, not for the first time.

“I don’t know,” she answers again and she knows it won’t be the last time she has to say it. “I wish I did.”

He can’t meet her eyes. He hasn’t looked at her in decades. She knows he doesn’t blame her. But she also knows sometimes he has to remind himself that it’s not her fault.

She’s not sure if that’s true. And she hates not knowing.

“I don’t know how much longer I can stand this,” he says, tears dripping down his cheeks because even if he can’t there’s nothing he can do about it. “It feels like that time you left and I was alone in the emptiness only this time it won’t end. I can’t leave and… and no one is coming back.”

“You still have me,” she offers, nudging him with her shoulder.

It’s not enough and she knows it. Especially since…

“No I don’t,” he mutters even as he leans into her all too infrequent touch. “I never really had you. Not anymore than you ever really had me.”

Death sits with him as long as she can. Which is just another couple minutes.

“It’s only a few more years before my day.”

“Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven years, four months, seventeen days, and three hours, before your next mortal day.”

“What? No minutes? Seconds?”

He does her the kindness of forcing a smile before nudging her back and saying, “You have to go.”

“I can stay a little longer.”

He sighs, a shaky, broken thing. “No you can’t.”

She leans over and presses a reassuring kiss to his cheek. Knowing it won’t work. Wishing she could do more.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I know.”

Because he does. He _knows _her.

And she _knows_ him.

The curse of life is knowing that there is peace only in death.


End file.
